


Head Full Of Doubt, Road Full Of Promise

by catteo



Category: American Actor RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s tough finding friends in LA.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>waltzmatildah and crowandfog have an obsession. It’s probably not healthy. This is all their fault. Title shamelessly ganked from The Avett Brothers. Also, I was sober when I wrote this. I am not sure if that makes it better or worse... Sorry world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Full Of Doubt, Road Full Of Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waltzmatildah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzmatildah/gifts).



They meet at a casting call in some shitty, overheated office in the back streets of Los Angeles on an oppressively humid Thursday in July. Aaron’s agent swore to him that if he could get a role on this crime procedural then he’d as good as made it. Turns out that Aaron’s agent sold the same crappy line to about a hundred other wannabes, and now he’s stuck sitting next to this guy with looks like a male model and this insane amount of floppy dark hair that Aaron doesn’t believe can be real. 

Aaron concentrates hard on tracing the jagged pathway of a crack on the wall, tries to convince himself that he’s not overwhelmed with nervous energy. The crackle of sparks under his skin begs to differ. His gaze keeps being drawn sideways to where a jagged fringe obscures the features beneath.

“You can touch it if you want,” his neighbour turns suddenly and fixes a vivid blue gaze on him.

“Ummm, what now?” Aaron’s completely taken aback and more than a little embarrassed to be caught staring. This guy is talking to him as if they were mid conversation, but Aaron’s pretty sure they’ve never met, although he seems strangely familiar.

“My hair. S’okay, everyone else does,” the guy shrugs, leans closer and whispers conspiratorially, “Leave-in conditioner. The chicks dig it.”

The only response Aaron can muster is a bemused grin. He wishes that he felt better prepared for the whole _actor_ lifestyle, but he’s just some nerdy kid from Idaho with a preacher for a daddy and four older sisters who treated him like a real-life doll for most of his childhood. He’d kill for some of the world-weary insouciance currently on display next to him, but his mom keeps telling him to be true to himself and, well, he can’t bring himself to disappoint her.

“Somerhalder, Ian,” the voice belongs to a willowy blonde with legs for days, totally out of Aaron’s league. Not that it’s stopping him taking a good look.

The guy that Aaron now knows as Ian pushes himself to his feet, turns and offers his hand. Aaron shakes it, totally disconcerted. 

“Break a leg, man. See you around.” Ian salutes him before spinning on his heel and following the model _slash_ actress towards the back of the building. The dude is bizarrely friendly for LA.

Aaron shuffles uncomfortably on the orange plastic chair for another forty minutes, sweat prickling uncomfortably between his shoulder blades, before his own name is called. His audition seems well received and he’s pretty sure he’s getting at least a call back. 

He doesn’t think about Ian at all.

 

+++++

 

Eleven months later and it’s like some creepy version of Groundhog Day. Only this time Ian sports three days worth of stubble and a new haircut. He looks like something out of a Gap advert. They’re in some different office in the same part of town, and the AC’s busted and the girls all look the same.

“Hey buddy! Good to see you,” Ian shakes his hand as though they’re actually friends. He’s sporting a black T-shirt with a question mark on it that Aaron’s pretty sure is something to do with music. “Really enjoyed your scenes last season.”

Aaron’s got it now, why Ian looks so familiar. His older sister watched _Young Americans_ religiously the summer that it was on, some sort of fallout from her adoration of Pacey and Joey. Aaron himself was more interested in watching _The West Wing_ , although he’s still trying to live down the moment his sister caught him practicing Pacey’s monologue from _Stolen Kisses_. Whatever, his girlfriend at the time was totally into it.

“Thanks man, you too,” Aaron hasn’t seen any of the episodes, doesn’t really care to relive the moment, but it seems like the right thing to say. This is all just a stepping-stone for him, before he moves on to bigger and brighter things. He runs his hand self-consciously through his hair. He’s got Ian’s hairstyle from a year ago, and he’s desperate to shave it all off. His agent won’t let him, tells him it’s more versatile. It pisses Aaron off; he looks like a wannabe and he knows it.

“We should grab a drink after, yeah?” Ian’s looking at him as though the only answer is in the affirmative. Which is probably why Aaron finds himself nodding and handing over his number. It’s not like Ian’s going to call him anyway. There’s probably some gaggle of girls and paparazzi waiting for him outside. 

So it’s a shock when he gets a message from Ian five hours later with an address and a command to _BRNG TQLA_. He should have guessed that Ian was the kind to use text shorthand. It’s the first party he’s been invited to all year though, and he’s grateful for that, so he sucks up his hatred of minimal vowel use and gets in his car.

He’s never seen anything like it outside of a set. Ian’s holding court by the pool, sprawled in a lounger, wearing a fluffy white robe like some junior version of Hugh Hefner. There are half naked girls gyrating on an improvised dance floor and fully naked girls swimming in the pool. He doesn’t know where to look as he picks his way gingerly through the bodies to where Ian’s surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke.

“Hey AP, good to see you man, thanks for coming.” 

Apparently he already has a nickname. Which, okay, is odd, but somewhat endearing. 

“This place is,” Aaron trails off. He’s never been _anywhere_ like this. “It’s insane.”

Ian throws his head back and laughs, claps Aaron on the shoulder. 

“You’ll have a place like this one day, AP, trust me. I can tell.” He proffers a Marlboro light and a beer to Aaron who takes both. He’s vaguely flattered but slightly unnerved, and although there are a lot of chicks around, it’s easy to be fooled in Hollywood. 

“I’m not hitting on you.”

Wow, creepy. It’s like Ian is reading his mind. Aaron almost trips over his own tongue in a bid to justify himself. “Hey, it’s cool, I mean, I’m not into guys, but…”

“Relax, man. Me neither. Although it helps to be – what’s the word - _flexible_ in this business,” Ian winks at him then bursts out laughing at the look on his face.

Aaron runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic that he can’t quite seem to shake. It gives him permanent bed-head, but apparently that’s what casting directors are going for at the moment. Fortunately.

“So I hear you got a part in _Miami_ too. We’re shooting mid-September, you?” Aaron’s darkly amused that Ian seems to be following him around the _CSI_ franchise.

“First two weeks,” Like, _literally_ following him around.

“That’s cool, man. I’m headed down early anyways, some charity thing for clean oceans. We should hang out. You bring that Tequila?”

The night deteriorates rapidly after that.

Aaron wakes up naked the next morning in a hotel room he doesn’t recognise with no idea how he got there. He feels as though there’s a marching band playing in his head and he’s not sure whether he needs to apologise to any of the three girls currently passed out next to him.

He lifts the sheets to check.

Yes.

Also naked.

So, probably he’s going to hell.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand.

_Imprssd bt btr. U hv 2 tke d hot 3? C u n 2 wks_

Aaron tries not to read anything into the last sentence.

 

+++++


End file.
